


An Average Tuesday

by Wynele



Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: F/M, Family Drama, Fluff, Gen, Humor, One Shot, Watch Lucifer on Netflix, author pretending to be deep, evil toddlers, rambling prose
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-08
Updated: 2018-12-08
Packaged: 2019-09-13 22:10:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16900746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wynele/pseuds/Wynele
Summary: Sometimes wanting what's best for someone is really just wanting what's best for you.





	An Average Tuesday

**Author's Note:**

> This is a story I started a few months ago without any clear idea of what I was attempting to accomplish. Turns out, it may not have been anything. Still, I liked parts of this story enough to edit and publish. This was the result.

On an average spring day at a rather ordinary outdoor café near one of the more mediocre beaches in Los Angeles, an older well-dressed man had brunch with his daughter.

“In the beginning,” the well-dressed man read aloud from a bible that been recently liberated from a nearby motel, “God created the heavens and the earth.”

The well-dressed man frowned, his graying brows furrowing, as he glanced over the gilded pages to the woman seated across from him. “That’s not how it went at all.”

The woman shrugged and arched a dark brow before taking a sip of her mimosa. “You could always tell them they’re wrong.”

The man grew thoughtful, tapping at his bearded chin with one long finger. He seemed to mull it over, chewing at his bottom lip and making several abortive attempts at speech. Then, he gasped, brightening, and snapped his fingers. “You mean like a plague?”

“I suppose,” she replied and ran her finger along the lip of her wine flute. “Or you could just drown them all again. Fewer bugs that way.”

The man pursed his lips, seeming to consider, and then set the bible down beside his coffee. He reached for the platter placed in the middle of the table, his index finger twirling above the various cheeses before he settled on a hefty cube of gouda.

“Would if I could,” the man said with a sigh and popped the piece of cheese into his mouth. “But a promise is a promise. Besides, the last thing I need is for your little brother to work himself into yet another snit.”

The woman shrugged again and plucked a grape from the cheese board. “Lucifer has always been a bit judgy about that sort of thing.”

“You don’t have to tell me, sweetling,” the man groused, settling back in his chair. There was something in his expression, some tale-tell flicker in his eye that suggested he wasn’t nearly as annoyed as he pretended.

“It was my apocalypse he ruined.”

“What did you expect? He has a family now,” the woman murmured dryly and drained the last of her mimosa. “But, worry not, Father. The humans are blaming the incident on climate change.”

The man pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger and closed his eyes as he shook his head.

“He’s always had a family,” the man said, pausing for a moment to pick through the cheese platter. “He could have at least acknowledged that he thwarted the apocalypse rather than behave as though it was just his average Tuesday.”

“Perhaps it was,” the woman teased and helped herself to a wedge of apple.

She took an exaggerated bite, her perfect white teeth tearing through the fruit’s bright red skin. “He made a life for himself away from you. Isn’t that what you’ve always wanted?”

Before the man could reply, their waiter walked up to the table. He was young with sun-bleached hair and a rich warm tan from spending hours on the beach.

“You guys ready?” the waiter asked, hands clasped firmly behind his back. “Or do you still need a few?”

The woman glanced at her father who lifted his shoulders in a shrug and then gave the waiter a dazzling smile.

“I believe we’re ready, my darling,” she murmured, her accent giving her words a sultry purr. “I’ll have the fennel and arugula salad.”

The waiter ducked his head, blushing furiously, as he scribbled on his notepad. “What dressing would you like with that, ma’am?”

“Please,” the woman purred, playfully slapping at the waiter, “call me Ithuriel.”

The waiter sputtered, nearly dropping his pencil, but recovered just barely. “Like the angel?”

“Exactly so,” she chirped, and then, as if flipping a switch, hummed and grew utterly serious. “I’ll have the mint.”

“ah-of course, ma’am, uh, Ithuriel,” the waiter stammered, then cleared his throat and managed a small smile. “And you sir?”

“Oh, the eggplant walnut frittata, I suppose,” the man said with a sigh and handed the waiter his menu. “And another carafe of orange juice if you don’t mind?”

“I’ll have it right out, sir.”

Ithuriel watched the waiter hurry off and then gave her father a thoughtful look. “So, how is that body holding up?”

The man, Father, God himself, sucked in a deep breath and looked down at his hands. Slender wrists branched into large, yet delicate hands. The fingers were long and their tips slightly calloused.

He opened and closed his hands, curling his fingers. They were beautiful, the hands of a musician, or in this case the angel of music. “It itches.”

Ithuriel smiled a bit at the obvious pout in her father’s voice, but then pursed her lips and shook her head in disapproval.

“I am sorry, but it is necessary. The last time you possessed the body of a dead human, you started a cult—”

“It wasn’t a cult, it was satirical religion,” he corrected with a defensive scoff, “and I’ll have you know that the Pastafarians are lovely people.”

“Even so, I asked Raziel to craft you this body as a precaution,” Ithuriel tutted and gave her father a waggle of her finger for good measure. “I won't have you wandering off on your own adventures or getting into trouble.”

Her father gave her a sour look, shaking his head. “So, I’m grounded. Is that it?”

“Grounded,” Ithuriel repeated, frowning as she tried the unfamiliar word on her tongue. “Is that some weird human thing?”

“And a weird angel thing, it seems,” the man, God himself, groused, and then smiled tightly when the waiter returned with their juice and yet another mimosa.

“I like getting into trouble.”

“I’ve noticed,” she murmured, folding her hands beneath her chin as leaned over her mimosa.  Beneath her father's playful petulance there was a tangible sadness. He was bored, painfully so, and it had made him miserable. “Perhaps you need a hobby.”

“I had a hobby,” her father insisted with a scoff and made an all-encompassing gesture. He frowned and gave his daughter a thoughtful look. “I’m going to tell you a secret. Something I’ve only ever told Raziel.”

“She’s very tall that one. Tall and trustworthy,” Ithuriel murmured offhandedly, settling back into her chair. “I’ve told her my share of secrets as well.”

“Now, Sweet Pea, I know you’re the oldest,” he soothed, giving her a fond smile. “And by rights, I should be confiding in you.”

“You’re confiding in me now,” Ithuriel reminded and poured her father a glass of orange juice. “And I’m the second oldest. Amenadiel still counts, if only barely.”

Her father wrapped his hand around the glass and stared down into its contents. He contemplated the orange liquid for a long moment before looking up to meet Ithuriel’s green eyes.

“I created humanity for Lucifer. They were always going to be his.”

For a split second Ithuriel looked surprised, but then she laughed, a low, rolling chuckle and shook her head. Somewhere to off to the left, a waiter tripped, sending a tray of glassware shattering to the floor.

Ithuriel glanced over her shoulder at the mess and then made a twirling gesture with her finger. The surrounding area shimmered, wobbling around the edges, as shattered glass reformed, and liquid found itself back in glasses. The pitcher and tray flew upward into the waiter’s hands who this time gasped, but managed to catch himself before he stumbled.

Where Amenadiel could stop time, Ithuriel could rewind it. She continued to laugh, but there was a glint of anger in her eyes.

“Then, you should apologize to Lucifer,” she muttered, holding her mimosa in a death grip. “Tell him you’re sorry and ask him to come home.”

“I’m the one who should apologize?” Father gasped incredulously and paused for a moment to fuss with the lapel of his suit jacket. “You do remember what he said to me?”

“Better to reign in Hell than serve in Heaven,” Ithuriel recited dryly and then tutted. “Baby brother always had a flair for the dramatic.”

“He sassed me! Right when he should’ve been thinking about what he’d done.”

Her father snorted, his jaw fixed in a firm line, fully indignant, but lips twitched as if he was trying to keep from smiling. “So, if anyone should apologize, it’s him.”

Ithuriel pursed her lips and bobbed her head in agreement. “Yes, especially since he’s celebrated for his forgiving nature.”

Her mouth formed a little “o” as her dark browns lifted to her hairline.

“Oh, wait,” she said, twirling her index finger at her father. “That’s you.”

“Sweet Pea,” her father grit out, a clear warning in his tone. He might be depowered at the moment, but he wouldn’t always be. Not that particularly mattered to his daughter.

“Oh, don’t you ‘Sweet Pea,’ me!” Ithuriel snapped, glaring as she reached for her mimosa. She took a sip and then downed the drink in a single gulp before slamming the glass back down. It struck the table with a clatter but miraculously didn’t break.

“You sent Lucifer to Hell because you thought it would make him happy.”

As quickly as it came, her anger faded, and she gave her father a small, sad smile, shaking her head. “And it did for a time. Until he became reviled by the creatures that were always to be his.”

“I had my reasons, Sweet Pea,” he said fondly and reached with for the cup of coffee. He took a sip and frowned. It had long grown cold. “And you saw what he did with my peace offering.”

“Yes,” Ithuriel drew out, the word ending in a hiss. “I had no idea humans were so flexible.”

“I didn’t mean…” He paused, frowning, his brows furrowing together, and seemed completely at a loss. “But on that note, why in Creation would he tie her up with pocket squares?”

“I’m thinking because she asked him to,” Ithuriel murmured and laid a gentle hand on her father’s. “She loves him, Poppie.”

Her father softened, obviously touched and turned his hand so that he could hold hers. “You haven’t called me that in a millennium.”

Ithuriel gave her father’s hand a fond squeeze but then scoffed, shaking her head. “And Lucifer loves her, even though she isn’t remotely good enough for him.”

God chuckled, warm and musical, and took a drink of his juice. “I doubt anyone in your mind would be good enough for your little brother.”

“No, there isn’t, but it is his life,” Ithuriel admitted, and then gasped, hand going to her chest when, as if conjured by magic, Lucifer suddenly appeared across the street.

He had apparently been shopping in one of the boutiques and his arms were overflowing with packages. There was a teenage girl at his side, in her arms was a writhing toddler a half step from a full meltdown.

“That’s my granddaughter, your niece,” her father said flatly without an ounce of emotion. “And this is the closest I will ever get to her.”

Ithuriel made a little sound in her throat, surprised or perhaps distressed, and then glared skyward. A silly gesture, she realized considering the person she was glaring at was currently sitting in front of her.

“Is that why you wanted to come here?” Ithuriel demanded, but then softened her tone. There was a chance for progress here, if not heal old wounds, at least plant the desire. “To see her?”

Her father took a sip of his coffee and made face before setting it aside. “It’s cold.”

Across the street, the toddler threw back her head and screeched to the sky, pure white wings unfurling behind her.

Ithuriel’s breath caught in her throat but then frowned, looking around. Strangely, none of the humans reacted to the sight of a winged infant.

“His house, his rules,” her father explained, enigmatically, answering her unasked question.

“Even if it wasn’t, one of the new Disney Princesses or whatnot has wings. And they’re obviously affluent. The humans could well believe the wings are a costume.”

“They’re glowing. Even humans aren't that daft,” Ithuriel sighed with a dramatic eye roll and rose to her feet. “Shall we say hello?”

Her father gaped, opening and closing his mouth, and looked around as if searching for a lifeline. One came in the form of their waiter, carrying their order towards them on a huge tray.

“Our food’s here, Sweet Pea.”

Ithuriel huffed in annoyance, shaking her head and walked the railing separating the café from the street. She spared one last look at her father before casually hopping over. “Enjoy your frittata.”

 

 _****_  
  


Trixie groaned, wincing at the ear-piercing shriek, and struggled to keep hold of the thrashing toddler in her arms.

“Hold on, Phoebe,” she soothed, bouncing on the balls of her feet as she dug frantically through the bag slung over Lucifer’s shoulder. “Her binkie isn’t in here.”

“It has to be,” Lucifer declared, exasperated, and began to pant himself down. It was a task made somewhat difficult given the number of packages he was carrying. “Where's Boo-da-Boo?”

“The bear is In the car!” Trixie nearly snarled and shifted the toddler to her hip she could dig deeper into the bag. “You just had to take the letter opener from her.”

“Yes, I took the sharp object away from my child,” Lucifer spat, eyes widening in annoyance, and reached for his daughter. “I may not be the best—”

Phoebe uttered an earth-shattering howl and flung her head back, her back bowing until she nearly folded in half. Light bulbs within the boutique behind them popped and then shattered as blades of blue-white light streaked from the child’s wildly flapping wings.

“Someone is going to see her, Lucifer,” Trixie fretted, gritting her teeth as she tucked the toddler closer to her body in an effort to keep hold of her. Phoebe was already many times stronger than a normal human child.

“They’re going to see her and take her from us and I’ll only see my little sister when the carnival comes to town!” 

Lucifer opened and closed his mouth, giving Trixie a wide-eyed look of incredulity. “Whatever in the world are you going on about, child?”

“I was wondering that myself.”

Lucifer froze, the color draining from his cheeks, and he turned on his heel, smacking Trixie with the diaper bag. “Ithuriel.”

“Hello, little brother,” Ithuriel greeted warmly and reached with outstretched arms toward Trixie. “May I?”

A surprised look came over Phoebe’s features as she hiccupped one final sob and reached her chubby arms toward the newcomer.

“No way, lady,” Trixie hissed, twisting at the waist so that the toddler was mostly obscured from view. The car was just at the end of the block. She could probably make it if she ran, but that would mean leaving Lucifer behind. “I don't care if you're an angel. No way you're taking her.”

“Suit yourself, my dear. I was only trying to help,” Ithuriel chided and smiled at Phoebe’s gurgling. “Although, I couldn’t help but notice that she has Michael’s eyes.”

Glowering and defensive, Lucifer stepped around Ithuriel, putting himself between her and Trixie. “She has her mother’s eyes.”

Behind him, Trixie made a little distressed sound and slipped her hand into his pocket for his car keys. Snagging them, she took a full step back and shifted Phoebe to her other hip. “Lucifer?”

Lucifer glanced briefly over his shoulder, and the gestured with his chin. Once Ithuriel held a great deal of affection for him. Unfortunately, things don’t always change for the better and there were some chances even he would not take.

His daughter giggled when his eyes flashed from dark brown to glowing red and she reached for him with grabbing hands. Smiling faintly, he locked eyes with Trixie and gave her a firm nod. “Wait in the car.”

Ithuriel looked back at the café as Trixie hurried away and noticed that her father was standing at the railing, watching. Expression blank, she turned her attention back to Lucifer and frowned.

“I ought to strike you soundly.”

When it looked as though Lucifer were about to speak, she lifted a finger in warning.

“I still might, so shut it.”

Ithuriel took the packages from him and set them neatly on the sidewalk. Then, she tapped her lips with one finger and looked him up and down. “And no squirming.”

Realization dawned on Lucifer a second too late. Before he could protest, he found himself on the receiving end of a hug that would put Ella Lopez to shame.

 

Across the street, God himself watched Lucifer stiffen and eventually relax in his sister’s embrace. Then, after a moment, he wrapped his arms around Ithuriel and hugged her in return.

“And on the seventh day God ended his work which he had made and he rested on the seventh day,” he read from the stolen bible, gently bobbing his head. “Not completely accurate, but I do enjoy a good nap.”

 

Ithuriel watched her father wander back to his table with a twinge of disappointment. She knew he would leave without speaking to Lucifer, and yet, she still dared to hope otherwise. Giving Lucifer one final squeeze, she pressed her lips to his cheek in a quick kiss and pulled away.

“It’s good to see you again, brother.”

“Is it?” Lucifer spat but then sighed realizing his words lacked the venom he intended. “I can tell by all the times you came to visit. Oh, that’s right. Never.”

“My attempts to visit you are in direct proportion to your efforts to see me,” Ithuriel mused, but then sighed, shaking her head. The last thing she wanted to do was argue. “Worry not, brother. I’m only here for the day.”

“Oh?” Lucifer purred eyes widening with a baiting smirk. “Dear old dad about to snap back your leash?”

“Indeed!” Ithuriel chirped, and then grew serious, her expression dour. “He only allotted me enough time to retrieve the required apparatus to shield Amenadiel’s head.”

Lucifer glowered, shaking his head, and reached down to pick up his packages. He had been school clothes shopping for the urchin and managed to find more than a few things for Phoebe and the detective as well. As he picked up the last package, he a felt twinge of something, not quite guilt, but too painful to be true nostalgia.

“The glare has always been rather terrible.”

Warmth bubbled in his chest and found himself smiling in spite of himself at the sudden joy in Ithruriel’s face.

“Yes,” she agreed, utterly serious, but her eyes smiled. “It’s good you understand the seriousness of my mission.”

“All too well, sister,” Lucifer replied dourly, playing along, but then dropped all pretenses and glanced up at the sky. “Why are you really here?”

“I’m trying to help someone realize that in planning another’s happiness, he was actually just planning his own.”

“Been there.” Lucifer snorted, rolling his eyes. “He probably wants to control everyone and everything around him.”

“Yes,” Ithuriel said softly, and then gave Lucifer quick side hug before stepping back. “And on that note. It was truly good seeing you, but I’m afraid I must go.”

“Go?” Lucifer protested, reaching for, but not quite touching Ithuriel. “You just got here.”

Ithuriel gave him an apologetic smile, glancing briefly at the café in disappointment. “I’ve been here all day.”

“Then you might as well stay for dinner,” Lucifer said quickly. This time he did her touch and hooked her arm with his. “Tuesdays are always rather boring for me.”

Ithuriel chuckled, shaking her head, and glanced briefly back up at the sky. “So, I’ve heard.”

_  
*****_

 

From the peace and serenity of his throne in The Silver City, the father of all angels, God himself, contemplated the globe of light before him. His plan was unraveling, faster than he intended. It was terrifying and wonderful or perhaps simply wonderfully terrifying.

He wasn’t sure, but he knew exactly who to ask. “Princess.”

In an instant, one of his daughters appeared in the throne room, her large blue wings unfurled behind her. “Yes, Daddy?”

“I would like your opinion, dearest.”

Nodding, the angel sat on the smaller throne to her father’s right and laid her scepter on her lap.

“Is this related to a secret you’ve told me?” she asked, making herself comfortable, “or something new entirely?”

“Both, I believe, or perhaps not. It’s a complicated matter,” he answered after a moment, dismissing the globe of light. “Oh, and a truly lovely job on the vessel. I dare say I could not have done better.”

“Thank you, Daddy,” the angel said, beaming, and then grew serious. “So, tell me?”

God, her father sighed, and for a brief instant wasn’t the all mighty creator the universe, but merely a tired and worn soul. Then, in a single breathless ramble, told her everything.

 

The Keeper of Secrets watched the throne room dim as her father left on yet another one of his adventures. He would return, bruised and battered, but happy for at least a few more centuries. Then, the inevitable boredom and impatience would return, and her father would once again hatch some scheme to lure Lucifer back to his side.

It would fail as much as it succeeded for Lucifer would invariably learn something new about himself. It was one of her most guarded secrets. One she doubted anyone would truly realize.

Lucifer had rebelled, this much was true, but his continued defiance was not pride. It was autonomy. He had outgrown their father, but their father had not outgrown him.

He still wanted his little star, his Lightbringer at his side. His thoughts of leaving creation were merely a means to accomplish that desire.  
  
Rising, she walked to the throne to the left of their father’s and smiled when it began to glow with a pure silvery light. Briefly, her thoughts drifted to her brother and his own Lightbringer and realized that he too he too had a plan.

 

_***fin***_


End file.
